I Let Arianna Huffington Into My Bedroom for a Week

She pays attention when I explain my bad sleep habits. She murmurs words of compassion when I describe what keeps me up at night—work, Twitter, Broad City. But about 20 minutes into our consultation, my newly appointed sleep guru interrupts: "I need to know that you are now at the point where you are willing to make some changes, yes?"

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"I am!" I tell her. And I mean it. I have to—not only for the purposes of this story, but for my future happiness and well-being, too. By the time we meet, I have skimmed The Sleep Revolution: Transforming Your Life One Night at a Time, which debuted in bookstores last week. I have internalized that I could be happier and smarter and maybe even thinner if I stopped stalking Instagram stars in bed.

It takes her five minutes to discover that I tend to get about five or six hours of sleep and think that's impressive, somehow, because I used to get less, have never owned a genuine alarm clock, and sometimes—on occasion—fall asleep nestled up next to my laptop. It's very romantic! I don't take naps. I check my email as soon as I open my eyes.

Arianna takes a hard look at me. "Obviously," she says, "you have come to the right place."

"I really feel the first step is realizing the value of sleep because we're sort of swimming in a culture that doesn't," she says. "For me, that's the essential step." As she surely tells everyone she meets since embarking on this crusade, she recounts the story of how she collapsed at home in 2007. Her doctor ran tests and informed her that she did not have a brain tumor or heart failure, but did suffer from a perhaps equally bleak condition. "Sleep deprivation," she remembers. "Burnout."

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"The fact that you're voluntarily here and that nothing dramatic has happened to you is good." Her chief of staff, who has set a plate of green apples and sliced kiwis before her and serves me some herbal tincture, nods enthusiastically. Yay! I beam.

Arianna can see that I am enthusiastic, so she decides I am ready for the rules:

One: 7 to 9 Hours, No Cheating

According to Arianna, everyone needs between seven and nine hours of sleep. Arianna gets eight. A reformed sleeper should discover exactly when she is "at her optimum" by going to bed 30 minutes earlier each evening until she wakes up ready to conquer the world. It will be, Arianna says, "excellent and amazing."

Two: Escort Your Devices Out of Your Bedroom

Thirty minutes before sleep, turn off all devices—laptop, iPad, smartphone. "This is going to be the key. This is where the discipline comes in," Arianna says. "You turn them all off...and gently escort them out of your bedroom." That sounds really nice, I explain, but I live in a studio. My bedroom is pretty much the entire apartment. Arianna looks momentarily flummoxed. Then, she brightens: "Do you have a kitchen?"

I do.

"Do that! Keep them as far away as possible, ideally not in the bathroom," she says. "Because sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and if they're in the bathroom, you may be tempted to look at them." Arianna knows. "So, ideally, you want to have them in the other direction."

I don't have the heart to explain to Arianna that, like I said, I live in a medium-size box of a room. I can go only in one direction—out of it. Privately, I decide I will keep my devices on a shelf in my closet.

Three: "Create a Little Ritual"

Arianna likes to take a hot bath with Epsom salts. Even when she travels, that is how she likes to unwind. She is a pretty relaxed traveler, she says, but this is her one condition. "So many hotels now don't have bathtubs." It is true, I say. It is such a shame. "The whole point is this is the moment when everything from that day is washed away," Arianna says.

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I do not particularly want to take a bath in my tub, which Arianna would understand if I invited her over to see it.

I rest my case.

I decide that I will do this at some point soon, since this is going so well. We can eat kiwi and apples. It will be both excellent and amazing.

Four: Do not think about all the unresolved things you have to do

"If there are things in your mind that are there still, write them down"—not on your laptop, obviously, which has been gently escorted out of your bedroom or into your closet, depending on your income bracket, but rather onto a piece of paper or in a notebook. "Write them down and that way you know they are there and you are not going to forget them. They'll be there in the morning."

I blame my handwriting on sleep deprivation.

Five: Get some dedicated sleep wear

"Put on some nice [pajamas] or even a T-shirt," Arianna says. Arianna believes that we all need "dedicated sleepwear," which I quite like the idea of. "You don't wear it to the gym, you don't wear it to brunch with your friends," she says. "You wear it to sleep." Yes. She loves Journelle for cute silk tops and bottoms. They are machine-washable, which is a sticking point for Arianna. "You don't want to have to send them to the cleaners."

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Six: Read

Arianna likes "real books," but sanctions Kindles because they do not emit stimulating light. She tells me she gravitates toward spiritual books or novels, because they are not about her work. "You have to remind yourself, you know, 'I'm not just my job,'" she says. I want to know when she plans to write a book about that, which I deem to be the hardest instruction she has given me so far. She smiles widely. It is very clear to me that we are best friends now.

Seven: Set your (real) alarm clock

Which means, yes, buy a real alarm clock. Pottery Barn makes clocks that sell for "$32 or $35," Arianna says. They have a "beautiful vintage" look.

Eight: No caffeine after 2 P.M.

This is, let me just say, way harsh.

Nine: Nap

Arianna so esteems the practice that she installed little sleep pods at Huffington Post HQ, inviting staffers to retire to them whenever they please. "I have a couch in my office, and I sleep here all the time!" The closest ELLE.com has to this is an oversize turquoise armchair that nobody likes to sit in during meetings. For a while we had a mattress in the hallway, but I never knew why and it's gone now.

For a while we had a mattress in the hallway, but I never knew why and it's gone now.

Anyway, at this point, Arianna promises to check in on my progress and sends me on my way. I reiterate my commitment to my own health and waltz out onto the Midtown streets. Deadlines looming, I already know I won't be able to revamp my bad habits this week. Diet starts Monday, I resolve!

Over the weekend, I take a solemn oath that I will order a real alarm clock, institute a bedtime routine, and gently escort my devices off my bedside table and into my closet at least 30 minutes before I turn in. I am on the brink of health and gladness. I know it.

On Monday, I find out my alarm clock has been waylaid in Pittsburgh and should arrive on Wednesday. No matter—I decide I will ease into this new practice. Even a revolution can be an exercise in increments. And so I stop drinking caffeine after 2 P.M. and start getting ready to sleep about eight hours later. In between, I have dinner plans and three deadlines. I make it to the dinner, which lasts longer than I want it to. I travel home and assess my options. For work, I both need to go to bed and stay up to finish these stories.

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"Only you can prioritize your health," Arianna insisted when we'd met. I shut my laptop and escort it into my kitchen. I sleep for seven hours during the week for the first time in months. I wake up, expecting to revel in newfound mental fortitude only to discover I have never been more exhausted. All I want to do is curl up and sleep for several millennia. Arianna warned me about this. Our bodies crave sleep, she said. No kidding. Because eternal rest is not an option, and I still don't have an alarm clock, I break the rules and read my email in bed for 20 minutes. Guess what—it's 1,000x more delicious than facing these waking hours. So there.

I sleep for seven hours during the week for the first time in months. All I want to do is curl up and sleep for several millennia.

By Tuesday, I feel like a pro! I shut my devices at 10:20 P.M. and read in bed for a full 30 minutes. Since my iPhone is in my closet and I still don't have an alarm clock, I make my boyfriend set his alarm instead. I feel bad for the role that I am playing in ruining his REM cycle, but, whatever, sleep is a selfish pursuit. I wake up at 6:45 A.M. and feel like a queen...who is still kind of tired. Onwards!

I bide my time until Thursday, following most of Arianna's regimen. Unsurprisingly, the move from five or six hours of sleep to seven or eight makes a difference. I notice that I am less moody. At the gym, it's obvious that my energy levels have improved. I run right through an entire rerun of Southern Charm on Bravo. I have fond memories of coffee in the evening, but do not miss the buzz. And huzzah! My alarm clock is finally supposed to arrive, which is good because I have to leave for Canada in a few hours and I want to have it for the trip. My entire nuclear family is traveling from New York to Toronto to surprise my grandmother for her birthday. Given that most of the celebrants at the festivities are well into their sixties, I feel sure that I will get a lot of sleep over the weekend. Who knows? Maybe there will be naps. Maybe we can all lie down and listen to a record player. I am so excited.

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Except disaster strikes. Endlessly delayed, the plane we are supposed to take to Toronto is rerouted to Philadelphia. It's not until 1:25 A.M. that the airline finally decides to let us know that we will not be taking off tonight. Exhausted, we quickly rebook ourselves for a 6:10 A.M. departure. We are mostly delirious but sentient enough to know that we need to switch terminals. Terminal D is empty and there is nowhere to sit.

Our luck seems to turn around when we find a set of wheelchairs! They are so rigid and terrible I laugh out loud. All five of us compete to see who can best contort themselves into a shape that looks like repose and fall asleep. My little sister is fastest. Within minutes, she's a goner. By the time I fall asleep, it's 2:30 A.M. and we have to check in for the next round of this torture in less than two hours. The whole time, acoustic Shakira covers reverberate over the loudspeaker. It's all worth it when we yell "Surprise!" And my Savta is elated. I cry, mostly because I'm so tired I've lost total control of my body.

I binge-sleep over the weekend, trying to rebuild from the wreckage. But I can't combat the exhaustion. Even on Monday, I feel like I've been repeatedly hit in the face with a frying pan. I email Arianna, panicked.

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Even in the midst of this crisis, I take a moment to note that Arianna remembered my earlier illness. She really does care. I follow her advice and get into bed immediately.

But it's hard to get back into the flow, I find. Instead of trying to get more and more sleep, I find that I'm inching backwards. Twice, I wake up in the wee hours and read my email for 20 minutes before going back to bed. I'm still getting seven hours, but barely. And when my alarm goes off, I do not rise and shine. I snooze. Knowing I will have to answer for my sins at her book launch, I decide to email Arianna.

So bolstered, I redouble my efforts. On Saturday and Sunday, I get nine hours of sleep. On Monday, I get in bed at 9:30 P.M. I think it'll take me a while to drift off, but I'm asleep in minutes. For the rest of the week, I stick to the Arianna rules and, it's true, my temperament improves. Plus, I go to Arianna's book party and nibble on tiny Greek snacks and feel like a champion. It's at a mattress store. Later, I order too much silken Journelle sleepwear and feel like a goddess.

Whether Arianna has personally guided you toward better sleep or not, you probably know you need more. You've read the studies. And on some too-short vacation or recent weekend, you've gotten good rest and loved it. If you're like me, it felt like luxury. But sleep isn't the latest It bag or some Kardashian-fueled beauty experience. It's not some great treat, really. It's essential. It's how we survive. More than theories about iPhones or aesthetic alarm clocks, what I realized in my own personal sleep revolution is how cruelly I've tricked my body—into equating sleep with extravagance, into believing that I could be so driven and ambitious that I could dispense with it. It is not true, I'm sorry to say, that more sleep made me a million times more productive. It didn't. Sometimes I went to bed before I finished what I needed to do. That is the price of rest. But more sleep did make me happier, more patient, less frenzied. It made me calmer.

Plus, it saved me so much money on coffee. Because, really, who needs a latte in dreamland?

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